Paige was not a fan of pretending to be bandits. They didn't need another reason to anger a potential ally.

"How about we act as a group of Etrurian refugees, Bern natives, and Lycian dissidents seeking asylum in Bern? Bern already takes in such groups. Not only would the army be more sympathetic to our plight, it has the added benefit of being true."

Though Paige still didn't want to leave Lycia, if they were to do just that, they needed to make the right impression. Honesty was the order of the day, though that wouldn't help them get past the Lycian army.

"There is still the matter of the Lycian army. I suspect the north is a battlezone. Are there any mountain paths to the east or south? If Lycia's attention is drawn to the battle, we may be able to slip through without much trouble."

"I will not take part in any plan that asks me to pretend to be a brigand," Cecily said in agreement with Ambrose and Paige, giving Ellie a look of disgust.

Not only did it sound outrageous for a noblewoman to pretend to be a bandit, Cecily was attacked by brigands while returning home from Badon shortly before the Marquess threw away her noble title. Although unhurt from the incident, Cecily was not ready to stoop that low to make conversation with the Bernese.

"I agree we stick to being refugees," she added. "And, in regards to Imperial troop movements, we can theory craft all night with no difference in outcome than merely traveling in a direction. There is no telling whether alternate routes are being occupied by soldiers or if they are vacant."

"Great. No acting on my part. Works for me." Shad chimed in. Raising his head about Paige's question about a path, he looked over the map again. Cartography wasn't their families strong suit. Killing, reckless behavior, and wandering definitely. Carla probably could be one, considering her Sacaen tracking skills, but she had no involvement in this map. He looked back towards Tania then back at the map, then at the sun. He then looked back at the map. Don't look at the sun, you daft idiot. He thought to himself, as he saw several traveling spots on the map now. He guessed roughly where on the map he thought they were and looked ahead to see if there were any paths marked.

What he saw was a mishmash of various lines traveling through the mountains, all converging on a path up towards the safehouse. "Ugh...I hate my family some times. There's several paths marked on this map heading east, but it's just a mess. I doubt half of these are actual foot paths. I think one of these paths was actually part of the original path, but my uncles additional pathways make it hard to tell where it is."

Taika looked back over Shad's shoulder at the map. "Perhaps we'll come across a sign."

"Maybe. If we do, we'd have to stay on guard. Bandits could be keeping an eye on it. Or maybe we'll run into a Bernese patrol. Odds of either are about the same, I'd say."

The sky was pockmarked with flying beasts. Arrows soared. Magic missiles of various elemental affinities careened through the air. And amidst all of that, there were the sounds of men yelling and metal clanging.

It was the sound of war. And it made Father Vorosh sigh in resignation as he strolled through the ruined streets of the Tanian capital.

It had been several days since word of Bern's surprise attack. A respectable contingent of the Lycian Guard had placed the city on lockdown, and most, if not all, of the civilians had managed to escape safely. Now only soldiers remained, along with a few of the Church's healers.

Vorosh continued around the corner and eventually came to a makeshift barricade. The man he was searching for was issuing orders, straining to raise his voice over the sounds of battle.

"Get that unit out of the streets! They're killing us from those archer nests!" the commanding officer yelled. "You there! Take your group around to the next street and get patched up!"

Ssskkeeeeeeeeerrrrrrr! A plume of fire soared overhead, shrieking over the city before slamming into one of the buildings behind them. Father Vorosh did not look back at the destruction it wrought - instead, he stepped up behind the Lycian soldier and cleared his throat.

"Marshal Clamely," he said, just loud enough to be heard.

The soldier whirled around. "Father! What are you doing here? It's not safe!"

The holy man held up his hand in reassurance. "Elimine protects me, my child. I have come to tell you to order a full retreat."

"What?!" Clamely exclaimed, before recognizing his outburst and calming himself. "We can't let them have a foothold in our land, Your Grace..."

Vorosh frowned. "Tell me, Marshal. What is the latest report from the front?"

"We-" the marshal stopped himself, understanding that Vorosh already knew the answer. He hung his head. "We are having trouble competing with Bern's tactics. They are exceptionally mobile, and we can't seem to pin down significant pockets of resistance."

"And your losses?" Vorosh's eyes threatened to pierce a hole in the marshal.

"Do not worry," the father said. "This will not be seen as a failure to protect Lycia."

"Your Grace...?"

"Permit me to act on your behalf." This seemed to calm the marshal. He took a deep breath, then turned to face his lieutenants.

Ssskkeeeeeeeeerrrrrrr! Another meteor spell sang through the air and crashed into the clocktower high overhead. A faint rumble ran through the path beneath Father Vorosh's feet, followed by panicked shouting.

"It's coming down!" "Take cover!" "Ruuuunnnnnn!"

"Get down!" screamed Clamely. He and his officers crouched down low and covered their heads. Vorosh looked up, directly overhead at the falling rubble. He closed his eyes and reached one spindly arm straight up towards the sky.

"Your Grace!!" cried the marshal.

A warbling pillar of golden light surged up from the ground around the Father's feet. It stretched up over his hand and jutted out another couple of meters before stretching out around the soldiers, like a fountain. Massive chunks of masonry slammed into the dome of light with a deafening impact, deflecting harmlessly into the street. Father Vorosh opened his eyes and glared at the marshal, a rare display of emotion.

"You must retreat now, Marshal." As the stone rain ceased, Vorosh let down his hand, and the light bubble dispersed.

Mouth agape, Clamely struggled to regain his composure and signaled to his men. One of them raised a horn to his lips and played a long, droning note that echoed throughout the battlefield. As the Lycians retreated, Vorosh continued forwards, into the courtyard in the city's center. A dead wyvern lay draped over the remains of the fountain, slowly rotting away - no doubt one of the first casualties of the battle.

Vorosh's expression slowly turned melancholy. He reached into his robe and produced a tome of magic. Its cover bore depictions of angels, circling in flight around a beam of light. This was the legendary tome of Etruria - Aureola.

Forgive me, my children...

Father Vorosh opened the book and began reciting the words, a forgotten language from hundreds of years past. Prayers to the gods above. He could feel his very soul straining to focus. All of his will, all of his faith - every fiber of his being was poured into the words as he looked towards the sky.

Off in the distance, some voice could be heard shouting in his direction.

"It's the head of the Church! What's he doing?!"

"Prepare to fire!"

"Wait... look! The clouds!"

Directly overhead, the dark clouds had begun to part ways. A faint glimmer of light, almost like lightning, started to grow from behind the clouds. Vorosh continued the incantation, his feet slowly lifting his wiry, pale frame off the ground. He paid no heed to the fact that he was hovering; all that mattered was the prayer. He kept his eyes fixed on the budding light above him.

Time slowed around him. High in one of the buildings overlooking the courtyard, a Bernese officer gestured with his sword. "Fire!"

As arrows were loosed, the skies were suddenly pierced by a beam of light. It engulfed Vorosh, who was still chanting.

And then - silence. Sound halted in the air. Arrows slowed in their trajectory. All eyes that were focused on the head of the church were blinded by a brilliant flash. Almost instantaneously, the courtyard, the surrounding streets... the entire Tanian capital was awash with a powerful white light.

Finally, Vorosh's prayer slowed. He did not dare open his eyes, lest he himself be blinded by the armageddon he was on the verge of unleashing. He felt his feet settle back down on the ground.

"...amen."

Vorosh slammed the book shut. As if tethered by a crossbow that had just been fired, all of the sound returned. The wall of light evaporated arrows in mid-flight. Residual magic from lesser tomes eroded away into nothing. Shockwaves rippled through the ground, pulverizing the foundations of the surrounding buildings. And every poor soul who had borne witness to the incredible flash of the spell was simply scoured from existence. A savage impact echoed through the capital.

Vorosh dropped to his knees, panting. There was a burning sensation in his chest. After a moment to gather himself, he rose to his feet.

There were no more sounds of combat. No more screaming wyverns. No more soldiers.

There was nothing. Nothing, save for the ruined buildings, threatening to buckle and collapse from the effects of the spell. Alone in the center stood Father Vorosh.